


Slytherins and Gryffindors

by sleepymoon



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Supernatural
Genre: (sort of), Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Castiel is a Sweetheart, Dean is Bad at Feelings, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, First Kiss, Gryffindor Charlie, Gryffindor Dean, Hogwarts!au, M/M, Misunderstandings, Pining, Ravenclaw Sam, Slytherin Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-07
Updated: 2017-07-07
Packaged: 2018-11-23 01:55:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11392959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepymoon/pseuds/sleepymoon
Summary: Dean is a Gryffindor. Castiel is a Slytherin.Castiel has a bit of a crush on Dean. Dean pretty much hates Castiel's guts.To complicate matters even further, the date of the Yule Ball is very quickly approaching.





	Slytherins and Gryffindors

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by [VeraBAdler](https://archiveofourown.org/users/VeraBAdler). (Thank you so much! ♡) Any remaining mistakes are mine.

 

Dean Winchester hates Castiel Novak. It's a fact. A pretty well-known fact.

Well, maybe hate is a touch strong of a word. Let's just say that he _strongly dislikes_ him.

What Dean certainly doesn't want to do, though, is spend time in the company of the other boy. A memo, this one, that obviously didn't manage to reach Castiel, because somehow he's always showing up unannounced _and_ uninvited when Dean least wants to have him around.

Dean sighs, long-suffering, noticing the very object of his thoughts walking toward him, bright-eyed and smiling as he carries a pile of heavy-looking books, a quill and a parchment sitting precariously on the top. Dean tries his best to ignore him as Castiel sets his stuff on the table right in front of him, taking the empty chair that directly faces Dean's. The library is mostly empty at this hour, since most of the students are taking advantage of a rare sunny winter afternoon and having fun outside despite the cold temperature and the slippery sheets of ice in the courtyard. Dean had been hoping to get some quiet time to be by himself, but alas, no such luck.

“Hello, Dean.”

“Hey,” he mumbles in response, without raising his eyes from his own quill or stopping writing.  
He's not especially trying to be rude on purpose, but Castiel just keeps _insisting_ on bothering him.

“What are you working on?” Castiel asks cheerfully, starting to arrange his own papers and inkwell on his end of the table, opening one of the sturdy books he brought with him.

“History of Magic. The essay due on Monday.”

“Oh. I already finished that. I could give you a hand with it, if-”

 _“Thanks,_ but I got this,” Dean grumbles a bit sullenly. _Showoff,_ the thinks, mentally scoffing.

Castiel's face blanks for a second with something akin to disappointment, but he quickly dons another smile and continues, undeterred, “I was just hoping we could perhaps help each other out. See, I could give you assistance with your Herbology or Arithmancy homeworks, which are subjects I know you don't like very much, and you could help me with our DADA weekly assignment. I know you're quite adept, and I find myself often struggling with those types of spells.”

“I dunno, Cas,” Dean says distractedly, “I'm kinda busy. I'm sure you'll be fine, though.”

Castiel's shoulders sag a bit, but he gives him a small nod, lowering his gaze back onto his quill.  
He's got awfully long eyelashes for a boy – not that Dean would ever pay attention to such things. Castiel bites on his bottom lip for a moment, looking around nervously as if to make sure no one else was going to be listening in to the conversation. “Dean, there is another thing that I've been meaning to ask you... um. Maybe this will come as... surprising to you, I suppose. But... see, what I'm trying to say is...”

Dean tries really, really hard not to roll his eyes in impatience.

He just wants Castiel to leave him alone, is that too much to ask for?

To be completely fair, his animosity towards the other guy has pretty old roots, although it's not like it was hate at first sight. On the contrary, the very first time they had met, in one of the compartments of the Hogwarts Express, Dean had liked Castiel almost instantly. He had even thought he might have found someone who could turn out to be his best friend for the years to come. Dean had just boarded the train, and he had seen this boy of his same age sitting alone in one of the compartments, with messy hair and startlingly blue eyes, who had seemed to be as eager as Dean to make a new friend.

His pet was one of the fattest cats Dean had ever seen, and the animal had hissed menacingly at Dean when he had poked his head in the compartment to ask if he could sit there, but despite that small detail, Dean had thought Castiel was pretty awesome. He already knew a bunch of complicated spells, but he wasn't bragging about his knowledge like some of the other snotty kids, instead he had offered to teach them to Dean as well. Cas had even shared all his food with him, a few wrapped sandwiches and a few packages of ice mice and licorice wands.

They had talked about the most random stuff, but mostly of all the cool things they were going to learn during their years at Hogwarts. They were both looking forward to it so much they were practically buzzing with excitement. Dean had thought he would probably share many future memories with the boy, because he had a feeling they would quickly become close friends.

And yet, it had all gone to hell when the time for the Sorting Hat had come.

Dean had gotten immediately sorted into Gryffindor, to his great relief and even greater delight.  
The Hat had had no doubts. It had been his dad's house too, after all, which had made Dean incredibly proud to be falling into his footsteps.

When Castiel's turn came, Dean had been giddy and excited. Castiel seemed like the type to end up in Ravenclaw, or maybe Hufflepuff, but Dean had secretly hoped that he would be sorted into Gryffindor, too. How cool would it have been, after all, if they had ended up sharing a dormitory as well? They would have become best friends in no time, he had no doubts.

But then, the unthinkable had happened.

After a few minutes longer than usual, the Sorting Hat had finally proclaimed _“Slytherin!”_ in a raucous voice, and Dean had felt the blood drain from his face. Just like that, he had lost a friend he hadn't really even gotten to know yet. But one thing was certain: if Castiel was going to be a Slytherin, then Dean didn't want to have anything to do with him, not ever again.

He had thought Castiel was a good guy, but obviously appearances could deceive.

Everyone knew the Slytherin house's reputation, after all. A bunch of liars and cowards that were always up to no good. Conniving, untrustworthy, conceited assholes. Downright obsessed with blood purity and all that nonsensical bullshit. Most of them were also disgustingly rich, and thus horrible snobs, looking down their nose at everyone else who didn't match their social standards.

Castiel had sat up from the stool and looked over at the Slytherin table, where everyone was cheering for him. He had even waved gleefully to his older siblings, Gabriel, Balthazar, and Anna (Dean learned their names much later), seeming very happy and excited for the Hat's choice. As he walked towards his assigned table, he had turned back towards the Gryffindor crowd and found Dean's eyes. And then, he'd even had the nerve to _smile_ at him.

Dean hadn't returned the smile.

In fact, he thinks, he hadn't smiled at the other boy ever since that first day, and he had no intentions whatsoever to–

“Dean, would you like to be my date for the Yule Ball?”

The blunt, unexpected question forcibly snaps Dean back to the present.

“Excuse me?”

Castiel's blush is all too visible above the collar of his shirt and around his ears.

“If... if you wanted to... I mean... I would... I would like to go with you.”

Dean just sort of gapes at him. He must be joking. He _must._ As if Dean would ever take a _Slytherin_ to the ball. _As if._ The concept alone is wholly preposterous. His father would probably disown him. His grandfather would turn over in his grave at the very idea. He couldn't possibly take this question seriously, could he?

“Yeah, right,” he replies with a dry, humorless chuckle. “Why not. We'll coordinate ties, even.”

Merlin knows why, but Castiel's whole face just lights up.

What is wrong with his kid, seriously? Is this really his idea of a practical joke? He's just so _weird._ While it's true that Dean hasn't found proof of any sordid scheme on Castiel's part _(yet,_ he reminds himself disdainfully) it's also true that Dean _does_ try his hardest to stay clear of his path. He sees right past the other boy's innocent act, what with his offers to help him study, or bringing him mallow candies when Dean had come down with strep throat, or sometimes even hanging out with _Sammy_ (the audacity!), obviously in an attempt to extract some information from his little brother to blackmail them with later on. Ha! As if Dean would ever let that happen! Dean had him all figured out.

Maybe Castiel has finally started to act out one of his undoubtedly convoluted and _evil_ plots.  
Dean will have to make sure to stay away from him even more from now on, and make sure that Sam does the same.

He watches the Slytherin rapidly collect his books, shyly say his goodbyes, and leave.

Dean goes back to work with a disbelieving snort. He notices that a blob of ink has ruined a line of the paper he had already finished writing. “Crap,” he mutters under his breath. This, too, of course, is nothing but Castiel's fault.

 

*

 

There's only a week left to the Yule Ball, and Dean still hasn't made up his mind on who exactly he wants to invite.

Dean's robe had been bought second-hand and it falls too big on his shoulders and too short on his arms, contributing to making him feel even more awkward than he already feels whenever he has to wear it. The fabric, once upon a time, had probably been a very intense crimson red, but now it mostly seemed watered-down and cheap-looking. Dean is usually pretty suave with the ladies (and the gentlemen) but there's something about the idea of putting on his threadbare robe and dancing under the supervision of his teachers (who will undoubtedly make sure that all hands do not stray below the waist area) that just isn't that exciting, if he's honest with himself.

So maybe he's been putting the whole thing off for as long as he possibly can, so what?

It's when he realizes that he's the only one in his group of friends who's still technically dateless that he finally decides he should probably do something about it. Charlie, Kevin, Benny, Garth, and Ash have all found dates. Charlie had asked a girl named Gilda, who apparently had “lush auburn hair” and was “prettier than a wood fairy.” Kevin obviously was going to take his long term girlfriend, Channing. Ash had asked Jo, who had rolled her eyes at him, but still said yes. Even Benny had manned up and finally asked Andrea, whom he'd been pining after for a little over four months. Garth hadn't even had to go through the highly embarrassing ordeal of inviting someone because a pretty blonde girl from Ravenclaw, Bess, had asked him herself in spite of antiquated gender conventions. Garth had been so shocked and had blushed so much as he stammered an affirmative that all of them had teased him relentlessly for weeks, after.

Since his brother Sam is still a first year student (who predictably ended up sorted in Ravenclaw, like the big nerd that he is), he's too young to be attending the ball, so he doesn't have to deal with this whole ridiculous shenanigan. Lucky him, Dean thinks a touch sullenly.

Dean is, all things considered, growing a bit restless.

So when he miraculously spots Lisa Braeden sitting alone at her desk waiting for the beginning of their DADA lesson – it seems they both arrived earlier than most of the other students – Dean squares his shoulders, tilts his chin defiantly, and tells himself that he can do this, no problem.

“Hey, Lisa. Listen, I was wondering-”

She bolts upright and throws her slender arms around his neck. “Yes! I'll go to the ball with you.”

At the unexpected but not unwelcome turn of events, Dean brightens immediately. “Awesome.”

 

*

 

The Great Hall doesn't look like the same old Great Hall at all as they step across the open gates.

The ceiling has been transfigured into a star-filled night and fairy lights have been scattered everywhere, glowing whimsically. Lisa squeezes his hand in excitement as they take in the beautiful decorations, the snow-white, velvety drapery on the walls and the animated ice sculptures. A large circle has formed in the middle of the hall, and when soft music starts filling the air the three participants of the Triwizard Tournament finally open the dances with their respective partners. The Hogwarts Champion looks stunningly beautiful in her strapless black and purple gown. If Dean had to put betting money on which one of them will be the winner, it would certainly be on her, and not just because of school pride.

After the opening dance, the rest of the couples flood the dance floor and the evening gets under way. Dean is wondering whether it'd be rude to visit the refreshment tables before asking Lisa if she wants to dance, when out of the corner of his eye he notices that Castiel is coming in their direction.

He stops a couple of feet from him, with a smile that seems shy, but also somehow irrepressible, that keeps on growing until his gums are showing too. He's wearing a midnight blue robe that looks very, very expensive compared to Dean's second-hand one. Just his presence is enough to sour Dean's festive mood a little. This guy seems determined to never let him have a good time, dammit.

“Hi.” Castiel says, after a small bit of awkward silence on the Gryffindor's part. “You look great.”

Dean has to grit his teeth to avoid a snappish retort. Is Castiel making fun of him right now? What the heck. Who does he think he _is,_ for Merlin's sake!

“Thanks,” he manages to reply, although his tone is anything but friendly. “Did you want something?”

“Um. No, I was just...”

“Then honestly, Cas, what exactly did you come over here for? What is your deal?”

The Slytherin's smile starts to slip, and he darts a look around uncertainly, assessing the crowd gathered around Dean and their obvious interest in the exchange. Charlie, Benny, Lisa, Garth, Ash, Jo, Tessa, and many others, they're all watching them in silence. Castiel seems to lose some of his previous confidence. Maybe he's finally picking up on the hostile vibes rolling off of Dean in waves.

“I only assumed... since we're here together, we'd sit at the same table, or... maybe dance, if... you wanted to.”

“What do you mean, we're together?” Dean asks, frowning.

“Dean... I'm your date. You're mine,” Castiel tries to explain, but to Dean he might as well be speaking another language with how little he's understanding what he's saying.

“What! What are you talking about? No, I'm most certainly _not!_ I'm here with Lisa! She's my date!”

Castiel's eyes widen as he looks from Dean to Lisa, taking in how close they're standing to each other. Despite how offended he feels, Dean still notices that Cas' hands start shaking quite badly, and how distraught he suddenly looks, like he can't understand what is going on. He looks horrified. Most importantly, he looks almost heartbroken, which is simply absurd. Why would he–?

“But... I... I asked y-you, I-” he starts, voice wavering and then cracking, and he has to stop.

“But nothing!” Dean barks, starting to get angry, “I don't get it, Castiel, why won't you just leave me alone? Why do you keep bothering me? You're delusional! As if I'd ever want a fucking Slytherin as my date! You know what? I'd sooner have asked a poisonous _snake.”_ He bites out the last word with all the venom he's capable of.

A sort of stunned silence falls around them, all eyes glued to the scene.

Charlie gasps, slapping her hand over her mouth. Dean turns briefly to glance at her, frowning at her reaction. What is her problem? He just said what everyone else was thinking, right?

Castiel just keeps staring and staring and staring, teeth biting with way too much force into his bottom lip. It might be a trick of the lights, but Dean swears he's got tears welling up in his eyes. He finally seems to snaps out of it, rubbing his arm across his face before lowering it and looking away.

“So that's why,” he whispers to himself, nodding. He meets Dean's eyes again, and now his are almost burning, fierce, and there's a sort of resigned resolution settling over them. “You know, I always wondered what I was doing wrong, what I said or did to upset you, why you seemed so adamant on refusing to be around me. But the problem was never me, it was you all along.” Dean swallows uncomfortably, taking a step back. “All this time, and I was trying _so hard_ to be your friend. Always defending your behavior to my family, to my friends, always making up excuses for your rudeness. I thought surely you must have had a valid reason to act that way. And yet, all this time... you just hated me. You thought I was a bad person... a snake, right? I see.”

He nods again, his jaw clenched, while Dean suddenly feels very, very small.

“Don't worry, Dean. From now on, I certainly won't bother you anymore.”

He turns on his heels and quickly walks away, disappearing into the rest of the crowd.

As soon as he's gone, Dean's friends turn their heads to look at him, all with varying degrees of accusing expressions. Charlie steps forward, coming to stand right in front of him. Her mouth is a tight, tremulous line and Dean doesn't think he's ever seen her so angry before.

“If I had any idea you were this pigheaded, Dean, I would have smacked you a long time ago. I'm so disappointed in you right now,” she blurts out, looking close to tears herself. “And to think I wanted you to meet my girlfriend tonight! Do you remember I talked to you about her? Gilda? Well, she's a Slytherin! What sort of horrible things would you have said to her if I'd introduced her to you?!”

“Yeah, that wasn't cool, bro,” Ash says, grimacing. “Castiel is an okay guy.”

Dean looks at the faces of the people he's closest to, trying and failing to work his throat. His tongue feels like sandpaper in his mouth.

“But...” he tries, feeling his head spin, “I thought... he's a _Slytherin,_ and I thought-”

“What?” Benny demands, his tone having lost all traces of his usual fondness, “That we'd stand behind you and support you spewing bigotry? Give you a nice pat on the back, say congrats on a job well done? Well, rest assured we won't do anything of the sort, brother.”

“He didn't do anything to you. Where is all this prejudice even coming from?” asks Tessa.

“Listen to me. _I said, listen._ If you wanna keep me as a friend,” says Charlie, her voice trembling with anger, jabbing a finger into his chest, “I suggest you do something to pull that head of yours out of your ass, and soon, Dean. I mean it. I don't even want to look at you, right now.”

They all slowly turn their backs to him then, relocating as a group to another table and leaving him alone. Dean stands there, feeling his eyes prickle with unshed tears. He hadn't been expecting literally every single one of his friends to ostracize him like this. And yeah, maybe he'd been a dick to Castiel, maybe he'd judged him too harshly, but... was everyone really going to give him the cold shoulder from now on? Did he really deserve all this? The fleeting image of Castiel's wet eyes flashes in his head, and a tiny, mutinous voice in his brain says, _yes, yes you do._

Only then he notices that Lisa is still hovering hesitantly a few feet away from him, her gaze roaming over to the dancing couples then back over at Dean, a clear longing in her eyes. Dean feels horrible for ruining her night, on top of everything else. She's really pretty in her green dress and up-do hairstyle. “I'm sorry,” he says to her, “I didn't mean to mess it all up.”

“It's okay.” She cracks half a smile, uncomfortable but trying not to show it. “If you still want to dance, uh... maybe we could do that.”

Dean looks down at his feet, shaking his head. “Sorry, I... I'm not quite in the mood anymore.”

Lisa nods, scratching her nose with a sniff.

“You know, I have a couple of classes with Cas, I talked with him a few times. He's sweet. Um.”

Dean feels a lump form in his throat, has to look away.

“Anyway,” she quickly adds, taking in his defeated stance, his slumped shoulders, “I was going to get something to drink. Do you want something?”

“No, I... to be honest, Lis, I don't feel like staying here... not anymore. I'm really sorry for causing a scene and ruining your night.”

Lisa bites down on her bottom lip, nodding along as if agreeing wholeheartedly. “I get it. You don't have to explain.”

He cracks a small grin, even though he isn't feeling it.

“I'm sure you'll find plenty of guys who'll bend over backwards to get a chance to dance with you.”

She laughs, blushing a little. “Oh, come on. Don't say that.” She hesitates, before shrugging with an amused roll of her eyes. “I mean. You know. It's true. I just thought it'd be pretty rude to admit it.”

Dean chuckles, gives her a kiss on the cheek. “Go have fun, okay? I'm really sorry.”

As he walks towards his dorm, sidestepping small groups of friends and giggling couples, he finds himself hoping to spot Castiel among them. He knows, rationally, that he almost certainly already left the ball, hurt and humiliated. He's probably crying right now.  
Dean honestly didn't mean to do such a thing to him. He never even thought for a moment that Castiel would take his answer seriously. He had always thought his animosity towards the guy was clear, hell, that it was mutual, even. It just didn't make any sense, why would Castiel even want to go to the ball with him, considering the way Dean usually treated him? Was he a masochist or something?

Dean slips his tie from around his neck and starts climbing up the stairs leading to the Gryffindors' dorms, his mood for the night totally and irreparably soured.

 

*

 

The next day, Dean considers feigning a bout of fever or something and staying in bed all day to avoid everyone. He eventually gets out of bed and changes into his uniform, though. Benny throws him a disappointed look when Dean tells him he won't be coming to class. He doesn't show up to his first hour of Potions, opting instead to spend his time in the quiet of their common room, almost empty during class hours. He tries to concentrate on writing his Astronomy essay, but he finds himself too easily distracted by the uneasy, guilty feeling eating away in his chest. Castiel's broken expression as initial surprise turned into heartbreak haunts him mercilessly. In the late afternoon, though, Charlie is apparently done with giving him the silent treatment.

“Hey, you,” she barks, coming to stand right next to him, her arms braced at her sides imperiously, “You didn't show up to any of our classes today, why is that? I wasn't aware that being a giant asshole was a medical condition that could make someone actually physically ill.”

Dean looks up at his best friend's scrunched up face, her irritated glare.

“Look, Charlie. I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you.”

She scoffs, obviously not believing a word of what he just said.

“Right. I get it. You just meant to hurt Cas, didn't you? Because you think he's scum, or whatever.”

Dean looks down at his hands folded limply on his lap and shakes his head. “No. I don't think that.”

Charlie's glare loses some of its heat, and she lets out a frustrated sigh.

“Well, you did hurt him! And I think you should own up to that. There's someone here who wants to speak with you, by the way,” she says, pointing a thumb behind her, “Since you're so busy hiding in here, I helped her smuggle her way in.” Dean leans his neck to the side, trying to see who she might be referring to. There's a girl standing near the entrance to the Gryffindor common room, her long hair as bright red as Charlie's. She's wearing a green and silver scarf around her neck, and she looks a little older than them. Dean remembers having seen her before, but he can't quite place her name. It looks like she hasn't noticed him yet, too busy studying her surroundings. She likely has never set a foot in their common room before.

“Who is she?” he whispers up at Charlie, anxiety building in his gut. She's clearly a Slytherin, and considering everything that happened yesterday, she must be here to tear Dean a new one. He isn't exactly looking forward to that, no matter how much he'd undoubtedly deserve it.

“Her name's Anna. Anna Novak. She's Castiel's older sister. She wants to have a word with you,” Charlie explains, then adds, “She was even kind enough to promise not to try to turn you into a toad.”

Dean looks back up at Charlie with a sheepish look in his eyes, desperate to lighten the mood.

“I'd make a pretty handsome toad, I'll have you know.”

Despite herself, Charlie cracks a tiny grin, her lips curling in amusement, and she punches him in the arm.

“Shut up, you big jerk, I'm still mad at you. Maybe I'll turn you into one myself.”

Dean smiles then, for the first time that day.

By then, Anna has finally made her way to them, and she stops next to Charlie, her eyes trained thoughtfully on Dean.

She's stunning, he thinks, blinking up at her. She seems to share the same kind of effortless charms of her younger brother, who manages somehow to look like a supermodel at all times, even that memorable morning he had overslept and shown up late to class, running into the room with tremendous bed hair, wrinkled clothes and his tie fastened inside out. Even then, those piercing blue eyes and Greek profile nose had managed to make half of the heads turn (Dean's included, he grudgingly admits).

“Hi. I'm Anna.”

Dean swallows, offering up his hand, which she shakes firmly, with no hesitation.

“Dean.”

She smiles, amused. “Yes, I know who you are. Do you have a moment?”

“I'll leave you to it,” Charlie says, and heads towards the girls' bedrooms, but not before throwing Dean a pointed look that clearly means _don't you dare screw this up, Winchester._

Anna sits down in front of him, eyeing him thoughtfully for a few seconds in silence, while Dean tries his hardest not to break eye contact as well as not squirm under her inquisitive gaze.

“Um. So.”

“I suppose you know why I'm here. Castiel told me what happened between the two of you.”

“Right,” Dean says with a slight nod, “Then you must be here to tell me how much of a bigoted asshole I am.”

Anna quirks her lips. “Actually, I thought that was already implied. But really, I just think you made an error of judgment. My brother doesn't know I came to talk to you; he'd probably kill me if he found out. What bothered me the most out of this whole mess of a situation is that if you said those things, then it means you don't know Castiel _at all.”_

“Uh...” Dean starts, trying to find the words, “You're right. I guess I don't know him very well.”

Anna leans back, settling more comfortably on the stuffed armchair and crossing her legs.

“Well, then my question is, would you want to?”

Dean doesn't hesitate this time, he says yes.

 

*

 

Dean doesn't know exactly how long he sits there, listening to Anna talk about Castiel.

Castiel, he learns, isn't a pure-blood wizard, like Dean had assumed from his surname, but a half-blood, just like him.

His father is, in fact, the heir of a long line of very rich, royal pure-bloods, but Castiel's birth was the result of an extramarital affair that the man had had with a muggle woman who had died due to complications in his birth. His father, who had barely cared about the upbringing of his legitimate children (Balthazar, Gabriel and Anna) was set on abandoning the infant to his unfortunate fate, and it was only his wife's intervention that had changed his mind. Naomi Novak, unexpectedly moved to compassion at the sight of the baby, had saved Castiel from having to grow up all alone in an orphanage by taking him in.

Chuck had always been a busy man, and thus an absent, detached father to all his kids, barely ever bothering to visit them at the Novak mansion, and leaving the task of their upbringing entirely on the shoulders of his wife. Naomi's cold demeanor had always been particularly evident towards the littlest of the Novak siblings. She had saved him, but it seemed like her acts of kindness towards him had stopped at that. She never quite grew to love him – not that she ever was particularly affectionate with any of her own children.

Perhaps to make up for this lack of parental love, the four children had grown up very close despite Castiel's different parentage. Over the years the three older Novaks had become fiercely protective of their littlest brother, even more so when, after receiving his Hogwarts letter and being sorted into Slytherin along with all his other siblings, some of their more narrow-minded housemates had started giving him a hard time about his blood status.

Even if Castiel could hold his own just fine and he was by no means a delicate flower, yet this didn't diminish his siblings' sheltering tendencies. Especially Gabriel and Balthazar, who often referred to Castiel as their “little duckling,” to his eternal embarrassment.

Anna keeps on talking, mentioning small, random facts about Castiel as they come to mind.

Castiel has a raw, special, and innate sensibility when it comes to animals. Care of Magical Creatures is one of his absolute favorite subjects, and he once spent a whole summer volunteering in a center for the rehabilitation of endangered species of dragons. By contrast, he tends to be pretty helpless around toddlers, and has a somewhat irrational fear of crystal balls.

He loves his cat to pieces. Her name is Ginger, and she's a scary-looking feline that turns into a purring puddle with her owner, but hisses menacingly at pretty much everyone else who gets too close. She especially doesn't like Dean. _At all._ Dean remembers her fairly well – that big, fat, red ball of fluff that had hissed at him from her cat carrier on the Hogwarts Express and viciously tried to scratch him. On the other rare occasions that Castiel had approached him with her in his arms, she had invariably tried to maul him. Apparently, he learns, she likes to sleep curled up on Cas' feet at the end of the bed.

Castiel is also the talented Seeker of the Slytherin Quidditch team (this Dean already knew).

Castiel's Patronus is a _bee,_ of all things, and Dean remembers that the very first time Cas had managed to evoke it, it had buzzed in woozy circles around Dean's head until Dean had swatted it away with an embarrassed scowl. Castiel had looked mortified, and their classmates had laughed mockingly at the display, making it even worse for the both of them.

Castiel has a sweet tooth, a trait he shares with his older brother Gabriel. He stress bakes when he's anxious about an upcoming exam, or simply bakes for pleasure when he has some free time. He's pals with the elf staff (of course he is), and they often let him sneak into the kitchens. Sometimes, when he makes too much stuff, he brings it to class with him and hands pastries and cookies around to the other students before the lesson starts. Oh, and the pies that Dean sometimes finds waiting for him in his usual seat in the dining hall? Well, as it turns out, those are Castiel's doing, too. When Dean seems to be having a rough day, Castiel tries to cheer him up this way. His friends, those who know, apparently tease him relentlessly for this.

Castiel can often be found in the library or their common room helping struggling first year students with some of the course-required spells, as kindness is one of his more prominent traits. But he's also headstrong, stubborn, and prideful, and sometimes his lack of social skills with people he's not familiar with can make him come off as stiff-necked and painfully awkward.

The person Anna is describing seems wildly different from the idea of Castiel Dean had conjured up in his head, and yet he can tell she's not sugarcoating or boasting about Castiel's qualities. Weirdly, he knows just as well as she does that Castiel is sweet-tempered, and kindhearted, and awkward as hell. The nasty, ambiguous, double-faced version of him that Dean had held as an immutable truth in his head for so long doesn't exist. Castiel is simply that nice, without hidden motives of any sorts.

Dean doesn't even realize he's been listening so raptly to Anna's words that he's now sitting on the edge of his chair, leaning forward precariously. Anna stops, then, throwing him another one of her knowing looks. “I know you might think all I'm saying is biased. Cas is my brother, after all.”

“No, it's not that. I believe you. It's just... if he's really so nice, thoughtful, and sweet, I don't get it. Why did he get sorted into Slytherin in the first place?” he whispers, more to himself than to her.

Anna sighs, rolls her eyes to the ceiling, and pushes her long curtain of red hair back from her shoulders. “Oh, I don't know. Maybe because Castiel doesn't have just three personality traits? My little brother is also brilliant, resourceful, and very ambitious. It makes perfect sense to me that he'd be sorted into our house! Besides, you're forgetting I'm a Slytherin, too. Do you consider me a poisonous snake as well, on principle? 'cause in that case, I've been wasting my time here.”

Dean winces at the reminder of his harsh words. “I was wrong. I should never have said–”

“Look, I'm not saying we're all perfectly nice folks, okay? We're not. Some of us are gigantic assholes, no doubt. My point is, Castiel is not like that. He just _cares_ so much, and he really cared about you, too. I think my brother deserves an apology, at least. He's not a bad person, and if you'd bothered to spend a few minutes getting to know him before jumping to conclusions, you'd have figured that out on your own. You really hurt him, Dean. I'm asking you, please do something about it.”

 

*

 

Dean thinks about little else but Anna's words for the rest of the week.

It doesn't take him long to realize that Castiel is clearly dead set on avoiding him. He no longer appears at Dean's side like he used to, clutching his books and wearing a hopeful expression. He no longer shows up in the library, casually sitting down at his table and trying his best – Dean can see it now – to start up a conversation with him, not only pushing through his own social ineptitude but also butting his head against Dean's wall of utter indifference and monosyllabic responses. Castiel was just trying _so much,_ and Dean feels a harrowing stab of guilt and regret in his stomach every time he dares to think about it – it's already becoming a very familiar feeling, he has to admit.

Once, by chance, they run into each other in the Great Hall. Their eyes meet for a split second, but Castiel is already walking past him, not even sparing Dean a second glance.

He knows he can't go on like this forever. He has to do something to make it up to Cas.  
The truth is, he kind of misses him now that he's not showing up unprompted anymore. And it's only been five days. How pathetic is that.

Dean finds his kid brother in the library, predictably, with his head stuck in a boring-looking tome. Sam greets him with a cheerful smile, which leads Dean to think he hasn't yet heard of the whole disaster of the Yule night. Dean sits down in front of him, and Sam's expression immediately shifts to concerned. “What happened?” he demands, setting the book aside and directing his full attention onto Dean. Sometimes Dean wishes they couldn't read each other so easily.

“Uh. It's just... you know Castiel Novak, right?”

“Of course I know Cas. He's our friend. Did something happen to him?”

Dean looks away from his brother's face, grimacing slightly, embarrassed. So not only does Sam consider Castiel a friend, he's also under the impression that Dean always did as well. Great. This is going to go swimmingly.

“Right. But didn't it ever bother you? The fact that he's a Slytherin?”

Sam frowns. “Why would that bother me?”

“You know,” Dean says nervously, “All that stuff that Dad used to say about them, what they're like.”

“Yeah, well, Dad can be a narrow-minded jerk at times, that ain't shocking news.” Sam considers Dean's face for a few seconds, intently, then suddenly his tone gets accusatory. “Dean, what did you _do?”_

“I messed up, Sammy. I messed up so bad. I said some things to him I should never have said.” Defeated, he slides his elbows onto the mahogany table, curling his fingers into his hair and pulling at it in frustration.

“Some things... you mean like something that Dad could have said?”

“Yeah.” Dean admits in a broken whisper.

Sam looks so baffled and genuinely _hurt_ at that, his big puppy eyes widening in disbelief, that Dean feels like he's one step away from crawling up the walls to avoid being on the receiving end of that look from his little brother. He hates, _hates_ disappointing Sam.

“I just don't understand. Why? I thought he was your friend.”

“Well, no, not exactly. I didn't think of him as a friend, Sammy. Quite the opposite, actually.”

Sam blinks at him. “You're serious,” he says, and it only half seems like a question.

“Yes.”

“Oh.” After a long moment of silence, Sam frowns again. “Well, you suck.”

Dean sits back in his chair, momentarily stunned. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. _You suck.”_

“Sammy, I'm really sorry. Please don't be mad at me. I'll apologize to him.”

“You better,” Sam mutters sulkily, reopening his book. “And don't call me Sammy.”

“Sorry, Sammy.”

Sam puffs out his cheeks, and Dean knows he's not going to shout, but only because they're in the library.

“You're such a _jerk._ Cas has such awful taste. Ugh.”

Dean blinks at that. “What?”

_“You heard me, jerk.”_

 

*

 

Dean's never been in this part of the school before, never had any reason to. He follows a group of Slytherins that he assumes are heading back to their common room down some flights of stairs and through a few corridors and turns. The temperature seems to have dropped considerably in this area of the castle. They reach the stone wall that leads into the Slytherin Dungeon, but Dean is too far away to hear the password, so he stops a couple of feet away to consider his next move.

“You!” someone barks, and Dean almost jumps out of his skin, turning to see two older Slytherins marching threateningly towards him. “Winchester!”

“How dare you show your face here, after everything you did!” snarks the shorter one.  
Gabriel Novak narrows his eyes at him. He's at least four inches shorter than Dean, but he's just as intimidating as if he were towering over him.

“No, sorry. I wasn't- I mean-” stutters Dean, “I just wanted-”

“Listen here, jerk face. Our Cassie might not be the stereotypical kind of nasty Slytherin you seem to loathe so much, but I assure you, _I am._ So if you _ever_ treat my little brother like that again, I'll show you exactly what a Slytherin is truly capable of. Did I make myself clear, Winchester?”

Dean is quick to nod his head. He deserves to get this kind of talk from Gabriel, he knows he does. If someone had treated Sam the way he had treated Castiel, Merlin knows what he might have done to them.

Gabriel carefully studies his face. “Good. Now stay the fuck away and don't you dare come near him again. I'll break your jaw, I ain't joking. Get lost.”

“No, wait. Please, wait. I know, okay? I know I've been a jerk to Cas. I only want to make things right, I just want to apologize to him,” he says. “But I can't do it, because he's avoiding me. He doesn't want to talk to me.”

Gabriel rolls his eyes in response. Balthazar scoffs, and says, “Yeah, well. Can you blame him, after all the shit you pulled? Honestly, Gabe, the nerve of this guy.”

Dean lowers his gaze, raking a shaking hand through his hair.

 _“I know_ I fucked up, okay? Stop rubbing it in. Guys, come on, _please.”_

Balthazar raises an elegant eyebrow, considering him for a moment longer. Dean is literally _so close_ to begging it's not even funny. Gabriel opens his mouth, most likely ready to start barking at him again, but Balthazar puts a hand on his chest, halting his tirade before it even begins.

“Oh, Salazar,” he sighs finally. “It's not just because you feel bad about being an asshole, is it? You actually _like_ him, don't you? You were so busy convincing yourself that you hated his guts that you never even realized you were crushing on him?” He laughs sharply, shaking his head in amazement. “Oh, this is _golden._ How much of a massive idiot are you, really?”

Dean's head snaps up as if pulled by an invisible string. He feels his whole face and neck heating up, and a denial is instinctively ready on his tongue. He opens his mouth, but somehow he can't bring himself to say it. His mouth clicks shut, and he lowers his head again, the self-loathing and humiliation burning hot in his throat, filling his eyes with molten tears. He can't even deny it. Balthazar is right. Ever since he heard Anna's words, he's been thinking about Castiel in a different light, and something has been pulling incessantly at his chest. He's been thinking about Castiel non-stop, period.

Gabriel huffs, throwing up his hands in the air, then he gestures wildly at Balthazar, exasperated.

“Oh, come on. I can't stand to look at him! He looks like one of those sad puppies with the big floppy ears! He's even about to _cry._ Just tell him, he's making me sick.”

Balthazar chuckles. “All right, all right.” He turns to face Dean again, adding, “I know that Cassie is in our common room right now, but he has a class in half an hour, so he's going to come out soon. You'll get to grovel at our brother's feet and hopefully not get punched in the face in the process. Wait. Actually, I wouldn't mind seeing you get punched in the face, now that I think about it... I might even do it myself.”

Dean flinches, shoulders drawing up as if really expecting a physical blow.

“Merlin, _relax. I'm kidding._ You Gryffindors are so gullible. It's amazing.”

Dean's not proud to admit it, but his shoulders sag in relief. A glimmer of hope tickles in his chest again, now that it seems he might get a chance to talk to Castiel alone.

“Let's make something perfectly clear, Winchester,” says Gabriel, looking completely serious for once. “You break his heart, I will break your–”

“I get it. Thanks. I promise I won't hurt him again.”

It seems like he waits in the corridor for hours, but it's probably just a couple of minutes before the secret passage to the Slytherin's common room slides open and Castiel steps out. Dean hadn't even fully realized how much he'd missed seeing him, and his heart does a little excited cartwheel. Castiel doesn't notice him right away, so Dean steps eagerly towards him. Obviously not expecting Dean to be there, the other boy startles, his shoulders jumping, and the books he was carrying in his arms clatter to the floor in a messy heap.

“Uh. Shit. Sorry, I-” Dean gets to his knees, starting to collect them. “Didn't mean to scare you.”

Castiel stares down at him, his face carefully blank, and he doesn't kneel to help Dean.  
The Gryffindor stacks the books into a neat pile and offers them back to Castiel with a tentative smile.

“Here.”

“What are you doing here, Dean? What do you want from me?” Castiel asks, his tone flat.

Dean's friendly smile dims a little, but he pushes through the embarrassment and answers, “Nothing. I just wanted to apologize to you, and tell you how sorry I am for what happened.”

“Fine. You just did. I have to go now.”

“Cas, wait.”

 _“What?”_ Castiel snaps, irritated. “I thought you were too good to mingle with the likes of me, didn't you say so yourself? So what else could you possibly want from an evil, nasty Slytherin?”

Dean recoils slightly at the harsh words thrown back in his face, biting hard on his bottom lip in dismay. He hates to know he made Castiel feel this way, the one boy in the whole school who surely deserved it the least.

“I don't think you're evil, Cas,” he says, softly, ashamed. “Believe me, I don't. You're one of the kindest people I've ever met.”

“Well,” Castiel snorts inelegantly, “You certainly didn't seem to think so at Yule.”

“Because I'm an idiot, okay? A complete dickhead. I wasn't even-” he sighs. “I didn't do it to hurt you, I swear. I just... I guess I kind of always thought that Slytherins were all the same. My dad used to... I mean, that's not an excuse, but... I always thought you guys had to be... well, at least a little crooked to end up sorted into your House.”

“A little crooked.” Castiel repeats, unimpressed. “Is this really your idea of an apology?”

“No!” Dean yells, horrified. He feels about ready to start tearing his hair out. If only he could stop putting his foot in his mouth, dammit. “I'm saying I was _wrong._ I was judging you before I knew anything about you. At the end of the day, I'm no better than all those people who ever called me a _half-blood,”_ he finishes in a whisper, looking away. For the umpteenth time in an hour he feels on the verge of tears, and it's really starting to piss him off. But Castiel's eyes soften when he hears that, and he finally takes his books back from Dean's arms.

“I'm sorry that ever happened to you,” he says, his voice low, but with a gentle undertone to it.

Dean shrugs. “It's just- Well, I'm sorry too. I was an idiot. I think we could have been really good friends, if only I hadn't...”

“Yeah,” Castiel says, soft and regretful. “Maybe, we could have been.”

“Look, Cas. I'm sure you already know this, but I'm really bad at this whole _let's talk about our feelings and shit_ stuff, but...” Dean forces himself to continue, despite feeling like he could implode from sheer embarrassment right then and there, “You're a really great guy. You're sweet, and caring, I see that now. You're absolutely brilliant with spells and charms, and you love bees and that ugly cat of yours, and your eyes always crinkle when you smile and... I swear, if I could go back in time, I'd say yes and really mean it. I'd have danced with you in front of the whole school. And if you could... if you could find it within yourself to forgive me, I'd love nothing more than to take you to Hogsmeade for a Butterbeer next week. As in... a date, maybe? If you wanted to? I'd very much like to date you, that is.” Dean is nearly out of breath as he finishes, and he waits, dread and hope fighting and gnarling in his stomach as Castiel just looks and looks and looks at him, without uttering a single word. “Or as friends!” Dean adds then, a little desperately, “If you don't wanna date me, that's fine too. We could be just friends, hang out together sometimes. It'd be fun! We'd have fun. I just want to... spend some time with you, get to know you better.” He swallows, his throat by now completely dried up. “Uh... Cas?”

“I... I really appreciate your apology, Dean,” Castiel says, not looking him in the eyes.

Dean blinks. Well, okay, that's fantastic. He senses there's a “but” coming, though.

“G-Good. I'm glad to hear that.”

“And I like you, Dean. A lot. I might even be a bit in love with you...” Dean's heart soars at Castiel's words. He feels it thumping wildly against his rib cage, as if wanting out. “But you also really hurt me, and I feel like I wouldn't be honest with myself if I just... pretended to forget about it. Maybe you really did change your mind about me, about my House, and yet... I know you also meant all those things when you said them, and...” he lowers his eyes, shaking his head with a frown. “I guess I'm scared I'll end up getting hurt again.”

“Right,” Dean hears himself say, even though he can barely hear anything above the sound of the blood rushing in his ears, the shattering hurt that radiates from his chest. “No, I get that. You're right. I understand.” He takes a step back, not knowing what else to do.

“Dean...” Castiel starts, probably seeing right through his bluff.

“No, it's fine. Really. I get it. I do. I'll... I'll see you around then. I'm really sorry, for everything.”

He doesn't run away, but it's a near thing.

He turns a corner, and when it becomes clear that Castiel isn't going to follow him and try to stop him, it's then that the tears finally start flowing.

He really managed to screw everything up. Dean has just now realized how much he truly _likes_ this boy, how much he wants him to be in his life, and Castiel doesn't want anything to do with him, not anymore. Isn't that just fucking great.

 

*

 

The next morning he tries very hard to put on a brave face for the rest of the world and, somehow, mostly succeeds. Charlie throws him a worried look when he sits down in front of her for breakfast and automatically starts filling his plate. She must guess something is not quite right with him, but he ignores her frowning face in favor of joining Garth and Benny's rambunctious discussion of the new Nimbus 2005's many extraordinary qualities.

He goes to fill his glass with pumpkin juice when he notices another plate sitting innocently next to his elbow, covered with a clean checkered cloth. He lifts it with trembling fingers, a part of him already knowing what he's going to find underneath. And sure enough, there's a beautifully crusted pecan pie waiting for him, the wonderful, sweet smell hitting his nostrils. It's a peace offering if he ever saw one.

Dean can't keep himself from running his eyes over the entire length of the Slytherin table, and when he spots him, he meets Castiel's heavy gaze from across the room, until the Slytherin finally offers up a shy, tentative smile. Dean returns it, openly and brightly. He feels something loosen in his chest, and the day suddenly, looks a lot brighter than it had before.

Maybe there's still hope for them, after all. He just needs to be patient, and let things unfold on their own.

 

*

 

A couple of awkward but mostly uneventful weeks later, the day arrives for the final Quidditch match of the season, between the Gryffindors and the Slytherins. Weirdly enough, a lot of the excitement and expectations that had kept building up to this day have now kind of ebbed for Dean. It's not like he wants his team to lose, of course not, but his relationship with Castiel is still tenuous at best, and he doesn't want anything to interfere negatively with it and jeopardize it for good.

Not paying much attention to his teammates, he changes into his uniform and grabs his broom.

As they walk towards the open field, he mostly tunes out their Team Captain's inspired motivational speech. Jo is handling it with her usual fervor, her blonde ponytail swishing from side to side as she speaks, but Dean can't concentrate on her words, his mind running in circles elsewhere. Which is why it comes as a surprise when one of their team's Beaters, Gordon, bumps his shoulder into Dean's to grab his attention. They aren't exactly close, but they're mostly on friendly terms when they interact in class and during Quidditch practice.

“Hey, Winchester. Victor told me what happened at Yule.”

Dean tenses instinctively at the mere mention of the dance. “What do you mean?” he asks, cautiously. Gordon smirks in a way that Dean suddenly finds very off-putting. Just then, he realizes he's not going to like what is about to come out of Gordon's mouth next, not even one bit.

“Come on, don't play dumb with me.” Gordon leans towards Dean as they walk to whisper conspiratorially in his ear, “I know what you did. The number you pulled on him. Good one!”

“Look, I don't know what you think you know, but that's not what happened.”

Gordon doesn't seem to believe him, barks a sharp, ugly laugh instead. “Yeah, right. It's not like you're going to get in trouble if you tell me, you know? Besides, if you ask me, you went way too easy on him. His kind deserve much worse.”

Dean feels his stomach churn in disgust, his anger boiling hot and sudden.

“Knock it off, Walker. I'm serious.”

Gordon doesn't even seem to hear him, too incensed by his own words. “I mean, a little humiliation, now, that's good, don't get me wrong, but not nearly enough, right? But if that Novak kid were to find himself at the end of an _accidental_ Crucio, now that would be a scene I'd pay some Galleons to to see.”

Dean whirls on him, grabs him violently by the lapels of his Quidditch uniform and almost lifts him off his feet. His hands are shaking with how badly he wants to punch him, but this is not the time nor the place, and Jo would never forgive him if he did something to get their team disqualified.

“I said _shut the fuck up,_ Walker. If I see you even looking at Cas the wrong way, you're going to be the one ending up with a Crucio.”

Gordon's eyes are now as round as dinner plates, but the shock doesn't last very long. He shoves Dean away, stumbling out of his grip. _“Cas?”_ he sneers. “Ah. I see. That's how it is, then.”

Gordon takes a few steps back, readjusting his collar and then raising his hands in mock surrender.

“Okay, Winchester, I get it. You're soft on him. Now don't get your panties in a twist!”

“You better leave him alone. I ain't kidding.”

Gordon scowls, seems about ready to say something in retort, but must change his mind, because he only throws Dean another scathing look. Just as Gordon walks away, Jo approaches him on his other side, a pinched frown on full display. “Dean, is everything okay? What was that about?”

“Nothing,” Dean lies, deciding to keep the incident to himself. “A little difference of opinions.”

“Well, I hope you settled it, because I need my best Chaser to be in top condition for this match.”

Dean throws her a flirty grin. “Bet you say that to all the Chasers.”

She rolls her eyes, punches him in the arm, and scurries off to check on the other players.

Some time later, when the two finalist teams for the Quidditch Cup are facing each other on the pitch, as they all listen to their Flying Instructor, Jody, restating the absolute need for fair play, Dean can't help looking over at Castiel, standing proudly among his teammates. When Castiel notices him, the Slytherin even darts him a faint smile. Dean feels his stomach churn at the thought that a mere month ago he might have laughed along with Gordon's hateful comments, maybe even agreed with him. He can't hold Castiel's gaze, he just can't. He avoids the other boy's eyes, keeping his own firmly anchored on his feet, and can't see Castiel's slight frown at his detached behavior.

 

*

 

Half an hour into the match, Castiel is speeding up into the sky, flying in wide circles and trying to spot the Golden Snitch. Dean sees Gordon swinging the bat in the direction of the fast approaching Bludger, and with a glint in his eye Gordon chucks it hard, throwing it right towards Castiel's turned head, knowing perfectly well that the Slytherin Beaters are too far away to protect their Seeker.

Dean gasps, a cold horror gripping his throat, and he can only scream “CAS! WATCH OUT!” as the scene unfolds in front of him. He hopes with everything he has that Castiel will hear him over the roaring wind.

The ball flies at top speed through the air towards the Slytherin Seeker, and the boy turns around at Dean's shout, surprise clearly written across his face. For a second his expression goes blank with shock at the sight of the Bludger shooting towards him, but somehow he manages to react quickly enough. Thanks to his sharp reflexes, he ducks swiftly to the side, but even so he barely manages to avoid getting hit in the face. He ends up overbalancing though, and loses his legs' grip on his broom. For the second time in less than a minute, Dean's heart jolts sharply at the idea of seeing Castiel plummet to his death. But Castiel is just that good, or really, _really_ fucking lucky, because he grabs onto the broom with his left hand at the last second and simply dangles from there, five hundred feet from the ground.

Dean rushes towards him as he hears Jody's whistle break through the uproar rising from all the tribunes around them. He gets to Castiel first, and grabs him around his waist as Castiel swings his right leg across Dean's broom, sitting in front of him. Dean keeps his arm firmly around Castiel's chest as he maneuvers them both towards the ground. He can feel the other boy shaking all over, hands clammy with sweat, heartbeat thumping wildly.

“It's okay,” he whispers in his ear, over and over, needing to convince Castiel but mostly himself, “I got you. I got you. You're okay. You're safe.” Castiel is gripping the hand Dean has on his waist with all the strength he has. It hurts, but Dean lets him, his head still reeling with relief.

When everyone is back on solid ground, Dean dismounts from his broom and marches towards Gordon, who has Jody and a group of other players already shouting angrily at him. He's trying to argue that it had been an accident, and it wasn't _his_ fault if the Slytherin Beaters can't do their damn job. Dean has to elbow his way through the crowd to get to him. He searches for his wand instinctively in his side pocket, but it's obviously not there, so he decides to resort to the good old-fashioned ways and punches his fist right through his teammate's face. He feels bones cracking under his knuckles, but he doesn't stop.

In the end, it takes Jody and four other students to separate them.

By then, Dean has a broken nose of his own, and Gordon is sprawled on the ground on his back, coughing up blood.

 

*

 

Dean doesn't remember the walk to the Hospital Wing. Everything is still sort of hazy up until he finds himself laying down in one of the beds, his whole face pulsing madly and his chest contracting rapidly to breathe through the pain. Madam Missouri Moseley, the school's matron, had cast a mild spell on him to dampen the pain, but then declared that it would take at least a few hours for the bones to repair themselves properly. He knows for a fact that Missouri could have used another spell to speed up the process, but at the moment she's too busy in another wing of the infirmary, tending to Gordon, whose injuries are much worse.

Sam, Charlie, Benny, and the rest of Dean's friends had rushed in shortly after and gathered around his bed, all of them visibly shaken and worried about him, but Madam Moseley had reassured them he was going to be fine and shooed them all out after a few minutes. And that's why, when Castiel appears next to his bed some time later, seemingly out of nowhere, Dean half thinks he's hallucinating.

“I thought visiting hours were over,” Dean says, surprised.

“As a matter of fact, yes. But Madam Moseley has a soft spot for my brownies and let me sneak in.”

“Ha. Bribing. Nice to know you've got a bit of Slytherin in you after all,” Dean says with a chuckle.

Castiel sits down slowly on the side of Dean's bed, admiring Dean's battered, swollen nose.

“Does it hurt?” he asks, his fingers hovering over Dean's face.

“Nah. I'll live.”

“Dean, you saved my life today. Thank you. I... I don't know what to say, how to...”

“Anytime, Cas. Don't sweat it.”

Dean shrugs, trying for levity, no matter the size of the lump tightening his throat.

He's not expecting it in the least, which is why, when Castiel leans over him and places a soft kiss on his lips, Dean recoils, jumping back in shock.

“Sorry!” cries Castiel, shooting to his feet and moving as if to leave. “I shouldn't have. I m-misunderstood everything. Again. I-I'll go-”

“No!” Dean nearly shouts, panicking and grabbing Castiel's hand to stop his hasty retreat, “No, dammit. Don't go. I didn't pull back because you- I _do_ want to kiss you. I _really_ want to. But my nose... um... well, you know, it _does_ hurt,” he finishes, a little petulantly.

Castiel sits back down. “Oh.” He lets out a relieved giggle, lowering his eyes. “Sorry.”

Dean considers him for a moment. His mussed hair, his pink cheeks. He could have lost him today.

“You know what? Never mind. Come back here. I don't care about the pain, just kiss me again.”

Castiel chuckles somewhat fondly, then glances at Dean's nose.

“I thought Madam Moseley would have healed you by now?”

Dean sighs. “Yeah, no, I think she's secretly enjoying having me here suffering,” he mutters sulkily.

Castiel bites his bottom lip, trying to suppress a laugh. “You poor thing,” he says, patting his head.

Dean is about to retort, but in that moment Missouri draws back the privacy curtains around Dean's bed and strolls forward. She throws them both a pointed look but doesn't comment on their closeness.

“Is Gordon going to be okay?” asks Castiel. Dean turns to look at him, frowning.

“Eventually, yes. Mr. Walker will recuperate. Your boyfriend here did quite a number on him.”

Dean doesn't even bother to blush at the “boyfriend”, too incensed by Castiel's words.

“Why do you even care about him? That dickhead could have _killed_ you.”

The Slytherin places a calming hand onto Dean's, shaking his head.

“I know. I'm concerned about you, actually. However noble your motives, you did attack him. I'm worried about the consequences you might face. You could even end up getting expelled.”

At that, Dean deflates. He hadn't even considered the possibility, but Castiel is right.

“Well, I don't think Headmaster Singer will resort to such drastic measures. He's been informed of the situation, and Dean's... personal involvement in the matter. You know better than me that underneath his gruff exterior, he's very understanding. It also doesn't hurt that he's got such a soft spot for you Winchester boys.”

Headmaster Robert “Bobby” Singer is, in fact, an old family friend. Dean remembers that during one of his visits to their home, Bobby had once fallen asleep on the armchair, and he and Sam had tried to come up with a spell to change his beard's color. They had somehow managed to turn it half white when Mary had found them and put a stop to their fun. Bobby hadn't been too cross with them, but he had also turned their hair bright pink. This, Dean remembers, he and Sam had found all kinds of delightful, and they had pestered their honorary godfather until he had caved and agreed to properly teach them the spell.

Dean ducks his head to hide a fond smile at the memory.

Castiel threads their fingers together, looking relieved at this new information.

Missouri conjures up her wand and makes a quick job of fully healing Dean's broken nose. She then proceeds to inform him that he has to “spend the night here to exclude the possibility of a concussion.” After that, she leaves them to their privacy, but not before reminding them that no “funny businesses” were going to be tolerated in the infirmary wards.

Both Dean and Castiel flush in embarrassment at that, but it's still not enough to deter them.

As soon as they're sure she's gone, they surge in tandem towards each other, their mouths bumping awkwardly at first and, after a few minor adjustments, clinging sweetly together. Castiel's hands curve around Dean's neck and Dean's fingers fist into the Slytherin's pristine robe.

Dean lets out a small sound of disappointment when Castiel draws back way too soon.

“I was wondering... if that offer to grab a Butterbeer with you is still valid?”

“Uh. Yeah. Sure it is.”

“Then I accept. On one condition, though.”

“Okay... what condition?”

“Instead of grabbing a Butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks, we go to Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop.”

Dean frowns, his lips pursing into a grimace.

“What? That place is ridiculous! It gives me cavities from just passing in front of it!”

Castiel grins at that, then swoops in and plants another kiss on Dean's unprepared mouth. His lips are plump and warm, and Dean kind of wants to melt at how good they feel.

“Oh, Dean, think about it. We'll get a table in a corner, no one will bother us. We'll order tea, share a pie, hold hands under the table. It'll be snowy outside, but cozy inside. Doesn't that sound marvelous?” he follows this heartfelt declaration with another quick kiss, and yet another right after. Dean's head starts to swim, his eyelids drooping, feeling more than a little drunk on Castiel's kisses. He mumbles something vague in response.

“You,” the Gryffindor starts, accusingly, but has to clear his throat when he realizes how rough his voice sounds, “You're so sneaky. Trying to distract me with kisses to get me to agree to go to that awful place with you. Admit it.”

Castiel grins cheekily. “Maybe. Is it working so far?”

Dean mumbles out a _“no”_ that doesn't sound very convincing, so the Slytherin surges forward again, a determined twinkle in his eyes, and truly lays claim to the Gryffindor's mouth, pushing their chests flush together and his tongue against Dean's, and kissing him long and languid until Dean's toes start to curl in bliss under the blankets.

“Anything!” Dean gasps breathlessly when they finally come up for air, their lips now swollen and tingling pleasantly “You win. I'll do anything you want!”

Castiel laughs, a pleasant huff against the Gryffindor's flushed face.

“That's nice to know. Although, I probably shouldn't take advantage of you too much.”

Dean circles the other boy's hips with his arms, drawing him closer still until Castiel is tucked safely into his side, his face snuggled in the crook of Dean's left shoulder, his hair tickling him under the chin. Cas may be a sweetheart, – and he is, there's, like, plenty of proof – but Dean knows just as well that he's going to get himself into so much trouble to keep his special place in the Slytherin's good graces.

“I- uh. I hereby give my full consent to be taken advantage of, as much as you want, for as long as you want.”

Castiel blinks slowly, looking up at him, as a positively devious smile slowly curls at his lips.

“Is that so?”

Fifteen minutes later, when Missouri comes back to kick Castiel out for good, she finds them in a... slightly compromising position.

Castiel is full on straddling Dean's lap, their tongues are in each other's mouths and seem very busy doing things tongues probably aren't even allowed to do on school grounds. Dean has both his hands firmly anchored on Castiel's perfectly delectable ass.

With an utterly unimpressed stare, Madam Moseley clears her throat and points an imperious finger towards the exit.

The Slytherin slips out of Dean's embrace with much reluctance, stopping with his hand bunched around the curtain to throw him a last smile over his shoulder before letting the cloth fall closed behind him. Once he's alone again, Dean plops his head back onto the fluffy pillow and stares wide-eyed at the ceiling, and no matter how much he tries, he just can't stop grinning.

 

*

 

“Hi.”

Dean breaks into a wide, relieved grin, and quickly stands up from the spot where he had been sitting in the courtyard waiting for Castiel to arrive. Castiel comes to stand a few steps from him, smiling too. He's wearing a wool jumper that looks very soft, fingerless gloves and his house scarf. His ears are a little pink from the cold.

“Hi,” Castiel answers. “You look surprised. Did you think I wouldn't come?”

Dean sputters, caught wrong-footed. “Uh. The thought might have crossed my mind.”

Castiel sighs, shaking his head. “Why? I told you I was looking forward to our first date.”

“I- Me too. Really. It's just- after everything I did, I wouldn't have blamed you for changing your mind.”

“Dean. I didn't make out with you in the infirmary until my lips were sore for you to go around second guessing my choices. I won't change my mind about this. About us. I've forgiven you, remember? Please give me a little more credit.”

Dean blushes a little at the reminder of what happened in the infirmary.

“No, I know. I just think you're... too good for me.”

Castiel rolls his eyes. “Let me be the judge of that. Anyway, what do you have there?” he asks, curious, nodding at the box Dean is holding in his hands.

“Oh, these are for you. Anna said they were your favorites. They're chocolate cauldrons.”

“Really? You didn't have to, Dean. Now I feel bad because I don't have a gift for you.”

“I don't want a gift. I want you to smile, have fun, and maybe hold my hand. That's it.”

Castiel laughs and looks away, embarrassed. “All right. I can do that.” He takes the box from Dean and opens the lid, eyes sparkling when he sees the chocolaty confectioneries laid up neatly inside. He picks up one of them and bites hungrily into it, moaning at the taste. Dean's cheeks get a little pinker at the sound. “Wait. You've met my sister? When?” the Slytherin asks then, almost as an afterthought.

“Uh... yeah, I did. Well, long story short, she helped me realize what an amazing person you are and how much of an asshole I had been to you.”

Castiel blinks at him, his lips slowly curling into a grin. “You think I'm amazing?”

“Yep.” Dean says with a solemn nod, popping the “p” with his mouth. He's quick to accept Castiel's outstretched hand when he offers it to him, weaving their fingers together as they start to walk towards the castle's open gates.

By the time they reach Hogsmeade, there are only two cauldrons left in the box where there had been six, and Castiel is licking chocolate sauce from his fingers with a pleasantly full, blissed-out expression. He throws Dean a glance, smiling sheepishly. “Still think I'm amazing?” he asks.  
Dean, who has been busy staring at him with a sort of moonstruck look, swallows and nods vigorously. Usually, he's the one who's being constantly accused of having a bottomless pit for a stomach, but it seems Castiel might just rival him on this front.

“Yeah...” he whispers, a little dazedly, eyeing Cas' plump bottom lip, “Yeah, absolutely.”

They make their way across the main street, where most of the shops are, and the crowd of fellow students gets much bigger. Enchanted Christmas lights are hanging down from the shop signs, and the snow accumulating on the rooftops makes the whole scenario pretty picturesque.  
As they pass Honeydukes' colorful, inviting windows, Dean wonders out loud if maybe he should go inside and buy Cas three more boxes of chocolate cauldrons to last him till the end of their date. Castiel elbows him playfully in the ribs, rolling his eyes.

They're standing in front of Scrivenshaft's windows, admiring the expensive quills sitting inside when Dean hears someone call his name from behind. He turns to see Charlie waving excitedly a few feet from them. She's holding hands with a cute girl with long, curly hair and a green and silver headband, who Dean assumes must be Gilda.

“Dean! Hi! You didn't tell me you'd be here too!” Charlie exclaims, leaping forward to squeeze him into a one-armed hug. “This is my girlfriend, Gilda. Remember how I wanted you to meet her?” Right then, Charlie notices Castiel hovering awkwardly at his side, and her smile widens reflexively. “Hi, Cas. You know Gilda already, right?” She suddenly seems to realize that Dean and Castiel are standing pretty close to each other, and she adds, “Oh, wait. So, are you two here together? Does this mean you're friends now?”

Dean gives Castiel a side-long glance, hesitating. The Slytherin calmly reaches into his confectionery box and pops another treat into his mouth, chewing gleefully and raising his eyebrows pointedly at Dean, as if he were too waiting to hear his answer. Dean narrows his eyes at him before returning his attention to his best friend's expectant, eager face.

“Um. Actually, this is... um, a date. Yeah, it's a date.”

“What! It's a what!” she shrieks, jumping on the spot. Gilda looks very amused.

“A date, Charlie,” Dean repeats slowly, “It's something that two people do when-”

“Oh, shut up! I heard you the first time. _Cas!”_ she cries, turning towards him, wide-eyed and open mouthed, “Are you really dating this giant dork?”

“Hey!” cries Dean, annoyed.

Castiel laughs. “Yes, I am. You see, I happen to find this giant dork very charming.”

“Damn! Dean, you could've told me! Why don't you guys come along with us, then? We were headed to the Three Broomsticks for a Butterbeer, are you guys up for it? A double date could be so much fun!”

“Uhhh.” Dean says, rather painfully, “Well, we kind of have... other plans.”

Charlie raises her eyebrows skeptically. “Oh? Other plans? Like what?”

“Mmm. We're going... to... Madam Puddifoot's.”

“What?! Seriously? But we always make fun of that place! It's so tacky!”

“Yeah, I know,” he grimaces. “But Cas here wants to go, so.”

“And you're going with him... willingly? Oh, for Morgana's sake! You must _really_ like him.”

Dean tries very hard not to blush, even though it's pretty much a lost cause, pointedly avoiding Castiel's gaze and opting for glaring at Charlie instead.

“I've always wanted to try their desserts, but I felt too embarrassed to go in alone. It's a couples' place, so I imagined it would have been a little weird,” explains Castiel very reasonably.

“Ha! You're just using me to get to the food then! I should have known!” Dean cries, feigning mock hurt, “And here I thought you wanted to take me to a romantic location and hold my hand!”

“Can't I want both things?” rebuts Castiel with a nonchalant shrug.

“He's right,” chimes in Gilda, snickering, “Any self-respecting Slytherin can multitask.”

Castiel grins at her, while Charlie cackles mercilessly and Dean rolls his eyes, enduring the teasing.

They say their goodbyes after that. Charlie gives them both a kiss on the cheek and whispers “good luck” into Dean's ear. Then she takes Gilda's hand and Dean takes Castiel's, and they part ways.

 

*

 

The tea shop is just as flashy and tacky inside as he'd imagined – pink decors everywhere, cushioned seats and flowery tablecloths, hearts hanging from the ceiling and golden cherubs on the walls. There's a candle on each table. The pleasant aroma of tea and freshly baked goods only marginally makes up for it. The doorbell jingles cheerily as they step inside, Castiel almost having to drag a very reluctant Dean in by the hand. Lots of heads turn in their direction as they pass, and the whispering increases, along with a few giggles and some distraught looks. Dean feels his hackles rising at the unwanted attention, but Castiel doesn't give him the time to dwell on it too long. He grips firmly around his fingers and leads him to one of the empty tables, thankfully a corner one that is distant from the door and from too many prying eyes.

Dean settles down in the cushioned seat and grabs a menu, mostly to do something with his hands, grimacing when he notices it's bright pink, heart-shaped and handwritten in red ink. It even faintly smells of roses. What even _is_ this place, honestly. He glances up and sees that Castiel, sitting across from him, is scanning the menu with a single-minded zeal. He looks like a man on a mission.

Dean can't help but quirk his lips, amused.

“Seen anything you'd like to get?” he asks.

“They have coffee cheesecake. Oh, and crab-apple pie. I want to order everything, I can't choose!”

“Dude, you'll end up getting sick!” Dean exclaims, appalled.

“Maybe. But it will be so worth it,” Castiel whispers in response, eyes sparkling.

“I'd rather not end our first date with you puking on my shoes, though, if that's all right with you.”

Castiel pouts, puffing out his cheeks, but then finally relents and they settle for one dessert each. When a floating notebook and quill feather show up at their table, Dean orders a big slice of crab-apple pie with a generous bout of whipped cream, while Castiel decides to try the Irish Cream chocolate cake. Dean has to admit that the pie is mouth-watering, and Cas lets him take a generous forkful of his own dessert. Dean returns the favor because he's a gentleman and because Castiel deserves it, anyway. He promised himself he would do this for Cas, 'cause he really wanted to make amends and make this a good – no scratch that, a _perfect_ day for the guy. But still...

“You know pretty much everyone is staring at us, right?” Dean grumbles as he scoops up more pie on his fork.

Castiel blinks up at him, swallows his mouthful, then takes a brief look at their surroundings.

“So they are,” he says, returning his focus onto Dean. “Does it bother you?”

“I mean, a little. Doesn't it bother _you?”_

“I wasn't paying them much attention, to be honest,” he replies, shrugging. “What do you think is causing such interest? The fact that we're both male, or that we're a Gryffindor and a Slytherin?”

Dean grimaces, scratching his nose. “Um. I dunno. Probably both? But I like to think that other same-sex couples have a little more sense of self-preservation than to ever consider setting a foot in a place like this,” he says the last part with a teasing grin, so that Castiel will know he's not really upset. He may be uncomfortable, but he doesn't want to cut their date short either. Plus, the pie is pretty damn good, which is definitely a big plus.

Castiel grins at him, scrunching up his nose adorably. Dean wants to kiss him so, so bad.

“Shut up, that's not true. I'm pretty sure I saw two girls sitting together when we got in.”

“Yeah, well, girls don't count. They usually like this mushy stuff.”

“I'm telling Charlie you said that.”

Dean barks a laugh, shoulders shaking. “No, please don't! She'd feed me to the Giant Squid.”

“She wouldn't do that. She seems very fond of you, though I can't understand why,” Castiel replies, trying to suppress a smile.

“Ha! Really? I'll remember that next time you ask me to accompany you here.”

“There won't be a next time,” Castiel says shrugging.

To Dean, it feels like a punch in the gut. “Oh,” he murmurs in a small voice, lowering his eyes and fiddling awkwardly with the cutlery. He had been hoping there would be a second date after this one, but evidently Castiel isn't having fun, and isn't that thought just incredibly depressing. Is Dean really such a lousy date?

 _“Dean,”_ Castiel's voice is soft, yet firm at the same time. “I meant that I won't ask you to come here again. We can go with Charlie and Gilda next time, or do something you want to do.”

Dean's shoulders sag in instant relief. _“Oh._ Well, I mean, it's not like I would really mind if you wanted to-” he's cut off from finishing the phrase by a loud, obnoxious voice coming from somewhere behind him.

“Hey, Winchester!” it shouts. “You sleeping with the enemy now?”

Dean's entire body goes bow-string tense, but Castiel grabs at his wrist before he can stand up and confront them. Dean didn't want to cause a scene, but now they're going too far. He tries to shake his arm out of Castiel's strong grip.

“If I'm gonna have to punch every single asshole who runs their mouth, then _I will,_ Cas.”

Castiel shakes his head with a long-suffering sigh. “Gabriel was right. You are such a _Gryffindor.”_

“What is that supposed to mean?!” Dean cries, affronted.

“It means you have a temper. Please calm down. Punching people is not a viable solution. Can we try a more Slytherin approach instead?”

“Uh... okay? And what would that be? Hex them all on the spot?”

Castiel tsks at him, disapproving. He slaps his napkin on the table and pushes his chair backward, standing up and coming toward Dean. He glances in the direction of the other tables, the hint of a smirk playing at the corner of his lips, then down at Dean. He puts a firm hand on the top of Dean's left shoulder, and the next thing Dean knows, Castiel is sliding onto his lap, a possessive hand curling around the hair at the nape of his neck, tilting his head up.

Dean can only gape up at him, wide-eyed and with something akin to awe. His hands come up of their own volition to catch him around his slender hips and steady him. Castiel smiles down at him for a long moment, then bends his head to slant their mouths together. Dean's eyes slide shut at the feeling of the Slytherin's tongue licking at his lips, begging entrance. He can't even really find it in himself to be embarrassed by the fact that they're now full on making out in a room full of people, all eyes trained on them, not when Castiel is holding him like this, kissing him like this. He thinks he probably hears more than one gasp, a noise of dropped silverware, maybe even the shattering of an innocent teacup on the floor. Right now Dean doesn't care, doesn't ever want to stop kissing the other boy.

When they come up for air, they're both panting heavily and Castiel's hair is a flurry of wild spikes. Dean must have gotten handsier than he had realized in the heat of the moment.

“...Slytherin approach, huh?”

Castiel laughs, his cheeks a lovely shade of bright pink. “Yeah. What do you think?”

“Brilliant.”

Dean is rewarded with another quick peck on the nose for that.

In the end, they are respectfully asked to leave the establishment (and never come back, Dean thinks is the hidden message there. Not that he was planning to ever set a foot in the damn place again, anyway). As they make their way to the door, all eyes still trained on them, a stunned silence seems to have fallen upon the room as if everyone is collectively holding their breath. Castiel – his hair utterly disheveled, his lips red and kiss-swollen, all courtesy of Dean – makes a point of lacing their fingers together, and then, just as they're leaving, he turns with a wicked grin towards the table where the group of asshats is sitting, and nonchalantly flips them all the middle finger.

Dean's like, pretty fucking sure he's in love.

 

*

 

 

 

_Five years later_

 

They're walking two by two on the narrow path that leads to an isolated, two-floors cottage sitting on its own in the middle of a wide clearing in the countryside. It's a particularly chilly day for summer, so they're all wearing their coats and Castiel is even sporting a green wool hat. Dean keeps making fun of him for it, but he has already stopped twice to draw Castiel's hands to his mouth and blow warm breath over his cold fingers, rubbing them in his own to get the circulation going. Castiel simply allows this with a fond, mildly exasperated smile, until he caves and agrees to put on Dean's gloves.

On any other day, Sam would have been all over the chance to mock his brother for something like this, but today he's too busy making gooey eyes at Jess as they walk a few steps behind Dean and Castiel, holding hands and whispering to each other in agitated voices.

Sam's got his own nerves to deal with right now, Dean supposes, what with bringing his girlfriend home to meet their parents for the first time. He's _so_ glad that he and Castiel put that whole awkward-as-fuck shebang behind them, years ago. Well. That's not to say that Cas has completely lost his nervousness, despite having met both John and Mary at least a hundred times by now. Even now, in fact, he's eerily silent, worrying his bottom lip as he walks at Dean's side, his blue eyes fixed on the Winchesters' family home emerging in the distance.

Dean slides his arm around his waist, trying to draw Castiel's thoughts onto himself.

“Hey. Stop, okay? You've got no reason to be nervous. My parents are cool, you know that. My mom _adores_ you, and my dad...”

“Tolerates me?” suggests Castiel with a raised eyebrow.

Dean grimaces slightly. “Well. I mean. You know him, he's not all rainbows and sunshine. He's been a real jerk in the past, but at least he's trying. You had a whole conversation just between the two of you last Christmas. I call that progress! Besides, to be fair, you never had to sit through an entire five course dinner while your boyfriend's stepmom was busy plotting the most polite way to hex you and dispose of your body.”

Castiel rolls his eyes and throws him one of his disapproving looks.

“Dean, you're the one being unfair, that's not true. Naomi wasn't that bad.”

The Gryffindor shrugs, unperturbed. “Okay, you're right. I'm exaggerating. She was probably just fantasizing about scooping my eyes out with a teaspoon, then.”

That startles an incredulous snort of laughter out of Cas. Dean grins, his mission accomplished.

“You're ridiculous,” Castiel insists, still chuckling, “And you know perfectly well _why_ I'm worried. They might not take it well.”

“Nah. There's no reason to worry, I told you. It's gonna be great. I promise.”

When they reach the walkway entrance of the cottage, both couples stop at the small, rusty gate and share apprehensive looks.

“Okay, deep breaths everyone,” says Dean. “This is going to be a piece of cake. Jess, Mom and Dad are going to love you. Sam, you better treat her right 'cause she's too good for you. Cas, babe, you ready?”

Castiel looks at him with a pinched expression. “No, not really.”

“Aw, come on, you were supposed to say _I was born ready._ I served it right up to you and everything!”

“Cas, seriously,” asks Sam in a slightly petulant voice, “How do you even put up with him?”

Castiel cracks a small grin at that.

“I don't know. They say love makes you do very, _very_ strange things.”

“Ha. Ha. You're hilarious, Cas, a natural born comedian,” Dean deadpans. “You know what else they say?” Dean adds cheerfully, wiggling his eyebrows. “Gryffindor in the streets, Slytherin in the sheets.”

Jess brings a hand in front of her mouth to suffocate her fit of giggles.

Castiel turns to look at him, squinting the way he always does. Dean chuckles, swooping in and planting a noisy kiss right where's he's frowning. At the gesture, another soft, besotted smile peeks at the corners of Castiel's lips, and Dean simply has to kiss that as well.

“Ew, Dean.” Sam groans loudly from a few steps away, “Literally _no one_ says that.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Maybe not around you, since you're such a prude, Sammy. Shut up.”

He ignores his little brother's bitch face in favor of focusing on Castiel again and the way he's looking at him, all soft and full of tenderness. It's a look that half of the time Dean feels he can't possibly be worthy of. If someone had told him five years ago, before the whole Yule disaster and everything that followed, that he and Castiel would have ended up moving in together, he probably would have thought them under the influence of a particularly strong Confundo.

Nowadays, though, Dean can often be found dozing off on their couch wearing Castiel's Slytherin-themed fuzzy socks, and there are very few things in the world that he loves more than the sight of Castiel laid out on their bed, his pliant, spent limbs tangled with Dean's, and Dean's red and yellow tie still wrapped loosely around one of his wrists. Because yes, Castiel can be a kinky bastard sometimes, and Dean loves every second of it.

All things considered, Dean likes to think they made some pretty good progress all by themselves in mending the centuries-long Gryffindor-Slytherin rivalry. Even Dean's relationship with Castiel's vicious pet has much improved. Ginger has grown used to having him around by now. Ever since he started slipping her pieces of fresh salmon when Castiel wasn't around, they've established a tenuous truce. Sometimes she even goes as far as bumping her head against his hand, meowing loudly and demanding to be petted.

 

 

 

Mary and John Winchester appear at the front door and usher the four of them inside.

A stammering Sam introduces Jess to his parents and handshakes and hugs are exchanged. Mary ruffles Dean's and Sam's hair affectionately. John even pulls Castiel into a one armed hug. Castiel looks positively shaken by it, and Dean throws him a surreptitious wink.

“So, Dean,” Mary says brightly, her arms full with their coats as she gestures for them to sit on the couch, “You said in your letter that you had something important to tell us.”

“Yeah,” Dean shares a knowing look with his boyfriend and takes his gloved hand, where he knows Castiel's engagement ring is hidden underneath the cloth. Castiel lets himself be pulled closer and tightens his hold, matching Dean's radiant smile. “We have big news.”

 

_fin_

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> To be honest, I could see Castiel belonging in every house, but I'll admit I have a bit of a soft spot for Slytherin!Cas (15k of Slytherin!Cas probably gave it away, oops). Canonically speaking, he's cunning, resourceful, prone to bending/breaking the rules, fiercely loyal to the ones he loves, a badass strategist (as well as a giant goofball, yes, these things aren't mutually exclusive, thank you very much). As for Dean, I guess I see him as either a Gryffindor or a Hufflepuff. In the end, I chose to place him in Gryffindor because of the greater rivalry between Gryffindors and Slytherins. It simply made more sense, plot wise.
> 
> I know in Harry Potter you get sorted in alphabetical order, but Dean had to be sorted first despite being a “Winchester.” Small detail, it kinda bothered me when I realized it, but I found no way around it because Dean needed to be sorted first and what surname was then left for Castiel that starts with w, x, y, or z? Castiel Zabini? Didn't quite work LOL
> 
> Ginger was obviously inspired by Crookshanks. I love that cat.
> 
> Unfortunately I didn't get to mention it in the actual fic, but in this AU Rowena is 100% the Head of Slytherin House! As for the others, I'm not quite sure, though I think I'd go with Ellen for Gryffindor, either Jody or Donna for Hufflepuff, and maybe Pamela for Ravenclaw. All ladies, yay!
> 
> And yes, the mysterious Hogwarts Champion in this AU is... *DUN DUN DUN*
> 
> Bela Talbot! 'cause she's awesome and my favorite and she'd kick some serious ass in the Triwizard Tournament.
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you for reading. Comments and kudos are love ♡


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